


The Pact

by shakti108



Series: Mingling [4]
Category: Bon Jovi (Band)
Genre: 1980s, Angst and Humor, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-01 09:41:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17241923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shakti108/pseuds/shakti108
Summary: He tossed his covers off and walked to the other bed, feeling a little self-conscious since he hadn't been that bold with Richie yet. But goddamn, that infomercial was making him hot ...





	1. One

Jon flipped through the channels, for probably the thirtieth time. The optimist in him was clinging to the hope that late-night television in Lexington had some kind of distraction to offer.

He'd bailed on the guys early because he just wasn't feeling it that night. But now that he was alone in the hotel room he felt wide awake and antsy.

And he preferred to find some mind-numbing entertainment than to think about the reason for his bad mood: He and Richie had barely spoken in the past two days.

It wasn't a big deal, he knew. They'd gone longer than that without having a conversation. Many times. So it shouldn't bother him now. And the fact that it was bothering him made him feel like a girl.

He kept clicking the remote, barely registering the images flashing in front of him.

They'd lost track of each other at the party the night before. And then Jon had become consumed by female distractions -- multiple ones.

Presumably so had Richie, since Jon didn't see him again until daylight. When he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon, he'd spotted what looked to be Richie's disheveled head poking out from the covers on the other bed.

Jon couldn't be sure, though, since there was still no evidence of a face -- or life -- when he'd finally left the room.

He sighed and continued to mindlessly click.

_No big deal._

There just hadn't been a chance to talk. It wasn't like they were avoiding each other or anything.

Jon punched the remote a little more aggressively, until something caught his eye. He paused, landing on what appeared to be a commercial for some kind of hose.

Mostly, though, he was noticing the chick holding the hose -- dressed in cut-off jeans, a tank top, and obviously no bra.

_Just fill Power Jet with any household detergent,_ an overly excited voice-over instructed. _Then simply stand back and shoot a powerful cleaning stream at your most challenging mess._

The bra-less chick aimed Power Jet at a filthy Chevy and proceeded to give it a thorough blast.

Jon licked his lips. He'd turned in early, but that didn't mean he wasn't up for something. Watching that girl manhandle Power Jet, wagging her sweet little ass, he realized he was definitely up for something.

He reached down and ran the heel of his hand over his cock, trying to ignore the fact that he was about to jerk off to a late-night infomercial.

That's when he heard the key in the lock.

_Shit._

He yanked his hand away just as Richie opened the door.

"Hey," Jon greeted through a fake yawn.

Richie just stood there for a moment, blinking against the blue light of the TV.

"Oh," he replied, sounding surprised. "I didn't … I thought you took off with that girl."

Jon wasn't even sure which girl he meant. There were always so many girls.

"Nah," he said anyway. "After last night, I'm kinda done with the chicks in this town."

Richie laughed softly, putting his key on the dresser. "Right. That was …"

"Yeah," Jon agreed.

He glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Only 2:20 a.m.

"You're back early," he said, trying to strike a casual tone.

Richie sat down to pull his boots off. "Well, it's like you said. I'm kinda done, too."

Jon snorted. "Since when do you say no to sex?"

Richie stood up. "I have standards," he said simply, before unbuttoning his jeans.

Jon looked at the TV screen. "Sure," he said, fixing his eyes on the Power Jet girl. "I mean -- I know."

Richie said nothing, and a moment later Jon heard him collapse onto the other bed.

"What the hell are you watching, man?" Richie asked, voice partly muffled by the pillow.

"Power Jet infomercial," Jon replied, like it was obvious. "Look at the chick."

The girl was now firing at some grime around a garage door, her perky breasts barely contained within the confines of her tank.

"Ohhh," Richie said, shifting to get a better view.

Jon grinned, feeling suddenly bold. "Actually, when you came in, I was just getting ready to … y'know."

Richie was still gazing at the Power Jet performance. "Huh?"

Jon looked over, trying to catch his eye through the glow from the screen.

"I was gonna _y'know._ "

Richie finally looked at him, eyes widening. "Oh, shit." He laughed -- a little nervously, Jon thought. "Um, sorry, man."

Jon shrugged. "No problem. I mean, it's probably a little sad to jack off to a household cleaning demonstration."

Richie chuckled again, then flipped onto his back. "Probably," he said to the ceiling. "But, uh, I can leave. I mean, if you wanna call toll-free to learn more about Power Jet."

"S'alright," Jon murmured. "I've lost interest."

He knew what he wanted right now.

He tossed his covers off and walked to the other bed, feeling a little self-conscious since he hadn't been that bold with Richie yet. But goddamn, that infomercial was making him hot.

Richie looked up at him suspiciously. "What are you doing?"

Jon hesitated. What the fuck did it look like he was doing?

He quickly regrouped, though -- plastering on the smile that never failed to evaporate panties. "It just occurred to me that it's more fun to enjoy a Power Jet commercial with a friend."

Richie blinked. "Oh."

_Oh?_

Richie pushed to sit up a little. "Um. I think -- I don't think that's a good idea, Jonny."

Just like that, Jon felt he was deflating. It hadn't even occurred to him that Richie would say no, so it was like a little punch to the gut. He thanked whatever gods might be kicking around that the room was mostly dark -- because he was sure his cheeks were burning red.

And then he started to feel angry. What the fuck happened to the pretty deer climbing into bed with the slutty fox?

Richie must have read the whole story in his silence, because he sat up higher. "I just mean, it's maybe not a good idea right now."

Jon worked his jaw. He knew he should shrug it off. The last thing he wanted was to seem needy. But he also needed to know.

"How come?"

Richie drew his knees up. "Well … I've been thinking about what you said the other night."

Jon scrambled to remember what words he could've uttered that would deserve days of pondering. He came up empty.

"What did I say?"

Richie sighed. "Could you sit? It's annoying when you hover."

Jon rolled his eyes then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Better? Now tell me what I said."

Richie bit his bottom lip. "Remember how you said you don't feel like this is right?"

Jon felt his stomach clench. "No," he replied slowly. "I said part of me feels a little weird about it. That's all."

Richie bobbed his head side to side. "OK. But still, I've been thinking … I don't wanna make you do anything that makes you uncomfortable."

Jon scrunched up his face. Where the hell was this coming from?

" _Make?_ " he repeated. "You haven't made me do anything. And I'm putting the moves on you, in case you didn't notice."

This time Richie rolled his eyes. "All right, bad word choice. But I -- I just don't want you to do anything that's gonna end up giving you a guilt complex or something."

He paused and glanced down, picking at the blanket. "So maybe we should, y'know, slow down."

Jon started to bristle at the direction this was taking. Richie was older, but he was definitely not the mature one, and Jon didn't care to be patronized by him.

"That's really nice of you," he said, making his displeasure clear in his voice. "But I can decide for myself."

Richie looked up and held his gaze for a moment. "It's not just your decision, though."

Jon's stomach was twisting in knots now. He couldn't remember the last time he'd been rejected, and it wasn't sitting well. If it was just some random girl, he would probably brush it off.

But it wasn't.

"That's great," he said, pushing to stand. "You start this whole thing, then change your mind and try to put it on me?"

"That's not what I said," Richie insisted. His voice was calm, but Jon could hear the undercurrent of tension. "It's not that I don't want to -- I do."

"Oh, please," Jon scoffed, starting to pace along the foot of Richie's bed. "You just regret what you did, and now you're trying to make it seem like you're protecting me or something."

He stopped as a realization dawned on him.

_Of course._

He looked at Richie and almost smiled.

"You are so full of shit," he said. "You just can't stand to be the bad guy. You do it with the chicks all the time."

Richie pulled his knees in closer. "What?"

Jon shook his head. "You know," he accused. "You want everyone to think you're nice, so you make shit up. 'Oh, Susan, this long-distance relationship isn't fair to you.' Blah-blah. When all you really want is to fuck someone else."

Richie didn't say anything at first -- probably because he knew it was true, Jon thought. When he did finally speak, it was obvious he was fighting to control his voice.

"OK," he admitted. "So I'm a dick sometimes. But I'm being honest now."

Jon laughed derisively. "Sure," he said, sitting down heavily on his bed.

Richie blew out a breath. "This is going well," he muttered.

Neither of them spoke for a few moments, and the sounds of the infomercial filled the room.

_There's no job too tough for Power Jet. Even those messes you thought were unreachable -- Just aim and shoot._

Richie cleared his throat. "Listen, Jonny … I didn't mean to upset you."

And that, Jon decided, was the last fucking straw.

"I'm not a chick," he bit out. "You didn't hurt my feelings. I'm pissed because I'm horny and I just got rejected by the biggest slut I know."

Even as he was saying it, Jon knew it was wrong. But for some reason, he couldn't stop himself. And then the words were out, just hanging in the air.

_Best of all, Power Jet is virtually indestructible._

Jon glanced at the TV just in time to see Power Jet being run over by a car.

He looked back to Richie, who was staring at his own hands. "Hey," he said, cringing at the little crack in his voice. "I didn't mean that."

Richie shrugged. "You're pissed, I'm high. Shit will go down."

"No, really," Jon pressed. "I'm sorry I said that."

"It's fine," Richie said dismissively, before stretching his legs out and settling down into the pillows. "Go to sleep, man."

He turned to his side, and Jon was left staring at his back.

_Act now,_ the voice-over urged. _Don't delay._

"Rich," he began, not sure what he was going to say.

He heard a sigh in return. "Jonny, go to sleep. Or not. But I'm tired."

Jon nodded, even though it wouldn't be seen. Then he buried himself under the blankets again and fished around for the remote. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be sleeping, so he'd need to find another distraction.


	2. Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He'd been too caught up in the sensations of being with a guy physically -- the newness, the weirdness and the hotness. And then there was the daily existential crisis where he wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his soul ...

Jon flicked his index finger at Richie's temple for the third time. And for the third time he got no response.

He stepped back from the bed and sighed. A good flick to the head always worked back in the day when he had to wake his brothers up. But Richie slept like the fucking dead.

Jon cleared his throat. "Hey," he barked -- again, to no effect.

"For Christ's sake," he muttered before reaching down to grab Richie's shoulder and give him a shake.

Finally, he got a whiny sound, though no evidence of consciousness.

"Hey," he repeated, returning to his flicking strategy.

This time Richie swatted at his temple, missing Jon's hand by a mile, and made a growly sound. Jon smiled a little.

"Wake up, sunshine," he crowed.

Slowly, Richie turned onto his back and squinted up at him. "Wha?"

"Wake up."

"What time …"

Jon glanced at the clock. "It's almost eight."

Richie seemed momentarily stunned. "The fuck?"

He tried to glare at Jon, but his eyes were unfocused and his hair was standing up in eight different directions -- which detracted from the menace.

"Listen," Jon began. "I wanted to apologize."

"Huh?"

Jon sighed. "I wanna say I'm sorry. I tried last night, but you wouldn't let me."

Richie blinked. "You woke me up."

"Yeah."

Richie threw his forearm across his eyes. "Dude. You could've waited till a decent hour."

Jon crossed his arms. "A lot of people are awake at eight."

"Not me," Richie replied, unmoving.

Jon chewed on his bottom lip, considering his next words. "I've been awake all night," he said after a beat.

He felt pathetic admitting it, but he was too tired for anything but honesty.

"And I got sick of waiting for you to wake up," he continued. "So I came over and started flicking your head."

Richie lifted his arm and peered up curiously.

"Anyway," Jon forged on, "I'm sorry I got so pissed last night. And I'm sorry about the slut thing. OK?"

Richie shifted to his side, to face him.

"OK."

Jon studied his face, trying to discern the truthfulness of the _OK._

"OK?" he repeated. "That's it?"

"It's eight in the morning."

Jon nodded. The fact that Richie was actually forming sentences was pretty remarkable, he knew. But patience was not his strongest quality.

"Can I sit?" he asked. "Or am I banned from your bed?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "You just got done apologizing and you're already being a bitch."

Even as he spoke, though, Richie scooted to the other side of the bed -- making enough room that Jon could sit down, cross-legged, facing him.

For a few moments they just looked at each other, until Richie cast his eyes down and started picking at the blanket. The same nervous gesture from before, Jon noticed.

"Am I supposed to say something?" Richie asked.

Jon didn't answer right away. Hell yeah, he wanted Richie to say something. _He'd_ already made a fool of himself by admitting he'd been up all night because they argued. And he'd been the one to apologize.

On the other hand, Jon realized, maybe Richie hadn't actually done anything wrong.

"Are we OK?" he asked suddenly.

Richie looked a little startled by the question. "By 'OK,' do you mean are we done being mad at each other?"

Jon wasn't sure if that was what he was asking, but he nodded anyway.

"Then yes," Richie said.

"What other 'OK' did you think I meant?"

Richie shrugged. "I dunno. I just wanted to know what your 'OK' meant."

Jon pulled an imaginary piece of fuzz from his sweats. "Well, I changed my mind. I don't think that's what I meant."

Richie furrowed his brow. "Then what?"

Jon shifted to untangle his legs. "Can I lie down?"

Richie looked back to the all-consuming blanket. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"I'm not gonna take advantage of your grogginess," Jon grumbled. "I'm just tired. And uncomfortable."

"I don't think ..."

Jon sighed in frustration. "Why are you making me be so pathetic?"

Richie stared at him for a moment. "I'm not making you do anything," he replied, repeating Jon's words from a few hours ago.

It was true, of course, and it made Jon feel more pathetic. But he was past the point of worrying about it.

"OK," he said slowly. "But I'm confused. A couple days ago, you got mad at me for not jumping into bed with you. Then last night you got mad at me for trying to get in bed with you."

"I was not mad," Richie insisted. "I told you."

Jon shook his head. "I don't buy it. I was coming on to you, and you tell me no because _I'm_ not really into it?"

Richie closed his eyes. "That's not exactly what I said."

"Then explain it to me," Jon replied simply.

Richie kept his eyes closed. "I told you. I just keep thinking about what you said. How you're not totally sure."

He looked at Jon. "I don't want you to do something just because you're horny and I'm there. And then wind up hating yourself or …"

Jon groaned. "That's not what I was doing," he said, trying to keep the whine out of his voice. "I could've hooked up with a hundred different chicks last night. But I didn't want to."

"Yeah, well, I could've, too," Richie said petulantly.

Jon opened his mouth to respond, but paused as Richie's words sank in. He smiled a little.

"You could've, but you didn't," he said.

Richie made a _duh_ face.

"Because you didn't want to," Jon went on. "You wanted something else."

Richie sighed. "Yeah. Well, you might recall that I said -- out loud -- that I do want you."

"Sooo," Jon cooed, stretching out next to him. "You want me. I want you. What's the problem?"

"I didn't say you could lie down."

Jon pulled a pillow under his head. "The Ramada owns this bed, not you."

"Jonny."

"You didn't answer my question. What's the problem? And don't say it's me."

Jon gripped his jaw as he waited for an answer. He wasn't even sure he wanted to know what the problem was. But at this point, he had no pride left. He was basically throwing himself at his guitarist, for Christ's sake.

Richie kept his gaze on the ceiling. "I just … Anyone I've ever had sex with … It never works out, y'know? It always falls apart and I never see them again."

Jon felt his stomach do a slow flip-flop. He hadn't actually expected Richie to admit anything like that. To basically say he was afraid.

"Oh."

Richie angled his head toward him. "Oh?"

"Yeah," Jon murmured. "Sorry."

He was embarrassed to realize he hadn't thought that far ahead. He'd been too caught up in the sensations of being with a guy physically -- the newness, the weirdness and the hotness. And then there was the daily existential crisis where he wondered if there was something fundamentally wrong with his soul.

He hadn't honestly let himself think about what it all could mean for them.

He cleared his throat. "So, what do you wanna do?"

Richie turned onto his side to face Jon fully. "I dunno. But I think we should have, like, a cooling-off period or whatever. And then meet back for negotiations."

Jon screwed up his face. "What, like we're Reagan and Gorbachev?"

Richie nodded. "Yeah. But you're Gorbachev. I don't wanna be the bald one."

Against his will, Jon laughed. But it felt kind of good -- normal.

"God, you're an idiot," he said.

Richie smiled softly. "So is that OK?"

Jon hesitated. Truthfully, it wasn't what he wanted. He'd prefer to stop thinking and just have that mouth on him.

But he could also see the perils of going on like that -- like it was nothing more than two people getting each other off because it felt good. Because there was no way it _could_ be just that, was there?

"Yeah," he finally said. "Sure."

Richie gave a small nod, then held his gaze for a moment before settling down under the covers.

"You gonna stay?" he asked Jon casually.

Jon made no effort to move. "Can I?"

"I don't own the bed."

"Hmm," Jon replied as he closed his eyes. His exhaustion was finally hitting him like a wave.

Just as he was drifting off, he thought he felt fingertips brush along his forearm. He didn't know if it was intentional, but he decided to believe it was.


	3. Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just when he thought he'd hit rock bottom, he was getting hard from _Moonlighting._

Cooling off wasn't the worst thing. It wasn't like he was starved for sex. It wasn't like he had to search for women, or put in any effort whatsoever on that front.

But after a few days, Jon realized that was a problem.

He didn't have to work at all. He didn't have to care about the other person, because she wanted him no matter what he did. If he felt like it, he could be a complete douche, or a vapid moron, or a drunken mess, and it didn't matter.

And in the very recent past, there'd been an appeal to that. No doubts, no rejection, no commitment, no consequences -- the quintessential dream of any twenty-three-year-old guy.

Except now, he didn't want it. All of a sudden, he wanted the one person who was making it hard for him. So to speak.

Jon turned onto his side and looked at the clock. Almost three-thirty a.m. He didn't have to wonder where Richie was. He knew he was somewhere with that blonde in the white crop top. At the party, Jon had seen her find eighteen ways, in the space of five minutes, to -- _oops_ \-- rub her tits against Richie.

Not that he'd been counting. He just couldn't help noticing. Luckily, there'd been no shortage of warm bodies moving against him, too -- making their willingness almost comically obvious. So Jon had taken one of them back to his room, hung the sign on the door, and gotten lost in sensation for a while.

And now he felt … lonely.

Cooling off hadn't been the worst thing. But at the moment, it sucked.

He reached for the remote on the nightstand, thinking he might find another nature show, or maybe the Power Jet girl.

Predictably, there were infomercials, but none starred any girls in shrunken tank tops, so he kept flipping. Then he landed on something that appeared to a be a normal show -- a repeat of whatever ran that night during the hours that normal people watched TV.

_Normal._

He never wondered what it would be like to have a normal job, because he definitely didn't want that. But on occasion, some of the other normal stuff -- going home every night, being with the same person for more than a couple hours -- seemed pretty nice. Maybe even better than the whole no commitment/no consequences thing.

Jon blew out a breath and tried to focus on the TV screen. It looked like that show where the guy and the woman were detectives. He'd seen it before and thought it was annoying, but the woman was sort of hot, even if she was old. Late-thirties, Jon guessed.

Also, she and the guy were currently lying in bed together, so there was a good chance she'd show some skin. Jon set the remote down.

Right on cue, he heard the familiar sound of a key. Richie must've sensed there was a naked blonde on TV.

As the door opened, Jon shielded his eyes against the light from the hall. "Hey," he said.

"Hey." Richie tossed his key on the table, hitting an empty beer can. "Um. There was nothing on the door, so …"

Jon glanced at him. "Yeah. She left a while ago."

He'd even had time to shower, to wash away the smell of her perfume.

As had become routine, Jon kept his eyes occupied as Richie gradually shed his clothes and collapsed into bed.

Onscreen, the woman -- Maddie -- appeared to be freaking out over sleeping with the dude. She was hiding in the bathroom and telling him to take a cab home.

_Harsh._

He heard Richie make a whiny sound into his pillow. "You're watching _this?_ It's a chick show."

Jon side-eyed him. "You watch _The Facts of Life._ "

Richie pushed up to sit. "You got me there. What did I miss?"

"They slept together."

"Seriously?" Richie sounded scandalized.

Jon grinned. "Are you a chick or something?"

Richie rolled his eyes. "No, it's just … The characters are supposed to have that whole sexual tension thing, right?"

He paused, as if Jon was supposed to answer. When he said nothing, Richie sighed. "When they mess that up, the show always goes to hell. It's a known fact."

Jon made a faux serious face. "You know a lot about girly TV."

"Fuck off," Richie said, but there was no bite to it.

Jon returned his attention to the fictional drama. The scene had cut to work, where Maddie was unfortunately wearing a lot of clothes, with shoulder pads and shit. She'd dragged the guy into her office and was bitching at him for being happy in front of the employees. She was worried they'd assume their bosses were doing the nasty.

Richie sighed again. "Isn't the Power Jet girl on?"

"I already checked," Jon muttered. "Be quiet, will you?"

Richie said something under his breath, possibly something about a "bitch," but Jon ignored it.

He was too busy listening to Maddie, who was clearly having morning-after regrets.

_David, I hate this. I hate feeling so uncomfortable._

David, the poor bastard, started to look alarmed.

_C'mon, Maddie. I know you feel weird. I feel a little weird, too. But it's a good weird. We'll work it out._

David got up in her personal space and tried to touch her, but she retreated behind her desk.

_I don't wanna work it out. I need to forget it ever happened._

Jon darted his eyes toward Richie, who was sitting against the headboard with his knees drawn up.

_David, last night was a mistake. I don't know what happened. I just got caught up in the moment, and I didn't stop to think about what we were doing._

Jon blinked at the screen. The universe had to be screwing with him.

Maddie started flipping out, saying she couldn't work like this, or live like this. She wanted to go back to the way they were before.

_David, let's make a pact. A pact that last night never happened._

It occurred to Jon that this chick was kind of nuts.

David refused, on the grounds that it did happen and they both liked it.

_I did like it,_ Maddie said. _Past tense. Now I feel terrible. David, we're the only ones who know. If we both agree it never happened, then it never happened._

"This chick is nuts," Richie grumbled, and Jon smiled a little.

He looked to the other bed. Richie was still sitting in the same position, but his eyes were on his own hands and he wasn't smiling.

"It's a stupid show," Jon said. "I'll put something else on."

Richie shook his head slightly. "S'okay. I'm gonna take a shower."

Jon watched him for a moment. "'Kay."

Richie didn't move a muscle, though. Jon started to warn him about the water pressure in the shower -- just to fill up the silence -- but he was cut off.

"Jonny."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry."

Jon instantly felt his heart rate picking up. "For what?"

Richie kept looking at his hands. "I started it. And then the second time, it was me, too. It's my fault."

Jon swallowed against the sudden dryness in his throat. "What's your fault?"

Richie glanced at him. "If everything's weird now, it's my fault."

Jon shifted in bed to face him. "No. Everything's not weird now … I mean, it's a little weird. But it's OK. Right?"

"And I'm the one who cut it off," Richie went on, as if he hadn't heard a thing. "Like a schizo." He let out a humorless little laugh. "I really fucked us up, didn't I?"

Jon shook his head. "No. It's … We'll work it out."

He immediately hated himself for quoting a character from _Moonlighting._

Richie scrubbed a hand over his face. "The thing is, I realized in the past couple days … I don't think I can just go back, y'know? Like it never happened."

Jon just stared for a moment. He'd come to the same realization, only he hadn't admitted it to himself. But now that Richie had said it out loud …

"Me, either."

Richie looked up sharply, like he was surprised by the direct answer. "OK," he replied slowly. "But I don't … I don't know what to do now."

He looked away, toward the door. "You're my best friend."

Jon pressed his lips together because he couldn't trust himself to speak just yet.

If they couldn't go back, they'd have to go forward, right? But if they did that, where exactly the fuck were they going? Were they going to get married and have beautiful babies?

_I'm cracking up,_ Jon thought dimly.

Of course, he knew, there was a third choice -- They could just give up completely. But he wasn't ready to even consider that.

A sound from the TV caught his attention. Jon glanced over and saw that David and Maddie were just sitting in a car somewhere at night. He was telling her he hadn't meant to drag her out that late to give him a ride. Blah-blah.

Then she said no, no, it was great. They were co-workers and friends, and that's what they did.

_Look at us, David. This is good. We're alone, on a dark street, at two-thirty in the morning, and we're just sitting here, having a conversation. This is good._

From his periphery, Jon saw that Richie was watching, too.

_Yeah,_ David said. _But I hafta be honest. I'm having a real hard time with this._

Maddie made a sympathetic face.

_'Cause what I really wanna do,_ David went on, _is find that sweet spot on your neck -- the one on the back, right under your hairline. I wanna find it and brush my lips against it._

_Oh,_ Maddie said.

_Then maybe unbutton your blouse -- slowly, button by button._

_David._

_Maybe lay some little baby kisses down your spine._

_David._

_Some angel kisses across your belly._

Jon crossed his legs under the covers. Just when he thought he'd hit rock bottom, he was getting hard from _Moonlighting._

It didn't exactly come as a shock when David and Maddie lunged at each other, or when they cut to a scene of them rolling around in bed. But it was awkward as hell.

Richie must've agreed, because he abruptly pushed to stand.

"I'm grabbing a shower," he mumbled, keeping his head down as he made a beeline to the bathroom.

And just like that, Jon found himself lying alone in a hotel bed, semi-hard to an ABC chick show. He would've laughed at the absurdity, if a part of him didn't want to cry.

Maybe Richie was right. Maybe their relationship was irreparably fucked now. And maybe it really was Richie's fault.

Jon knew it would be convenient to blame him. But there was one glaring, inconvenient fact: Richie had made the first move, but Jon had been an eager participant the whole way. Which probably meant Richie was simply braver than he was. And he didn't care for that feeling.

Jon realized he had a choice to make, right now. He could quickly rub one out and go to sleep, or he could end this cooling-off period.

His preference wasn't in question, really. But he wasn't entirely sure what to do. He supposed he could just march right into the bathroom. If he was lucky, that would seem daring and hot.

On the other hand, it could read desperate and creepy.

Jon sighed. _What the fuck?_

He was never clumsy with girls, or at least he hadn't been for years. Why was he so paralyzed now? Vaguely, he was aware of a possible answer, but it was too overwhelming to think about just yet.

So he did the one thing he could do. He tossed off his covers and got out of bed.


	4. Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How do you tell your best friend that you share his anxiety over their possible impending doom, but you're really jealous of the _Moonlighting_ characters right now and would appreciate a hand-job, thank you very much?

_I'm an idiot,_ Jon concluded as he stood outside the bathroom door, staring at the knob.

He had no idea what he was doing. How do you tell your best friend that you share his anxiety over their possible impending doom, but you're really jealous of the _Moonlighting_ characters right now and would appreciate a hand-job, thank you very much?

Your currently wet and naked best friend.

Jon felt his cock jump at that last thought.

_Jesus._

He started to retreat back to his bed but halted halfway, cursing himself for being a wuss. Scanning the room, it occurred to him he could get in Richie's bed. But he immediately dismissed the idea because it felt odd -- or like something Richie would do.

So he returned to the bathroom door and resumed staring. He wasn't convinced this walk-in-while-he's-showering plan was as sexy as he initially thought. Richie had seen _Psycho_ at least ten times.

Jon heard the water shut off.

_Shit._

He scurried back to his bed and sat down, thinking it was probably best if he just waited there. About thirty seconds later, he looked toward the bathroom. What the fuck was Richie doing, curling his hair?

"Rich," he called.

He got some indecipherable response, so he walked over to the door.

"Hey," he said, knocking lightly.

"What?"

"I need to get in there." It wasn't even a lie.

The door swung open, and from the look on Richie's face, he was pretty pissed. More importantly, he was wearing a towel.

"Jesus, Jon -- I'll be done in a second."

Jon stepped forward. "I can't wait that long," he breathed, cupping Richie's face with both hands.

He was a little worried he was going to get decked, but mostly he felt a wave of relief as he touched his lips to Richie's. The cooling-off period really had been the worst thing.

Richie made a surprised little _umph_ sound, and his whole body tensed under Jon's touch at first. But it took only a few seconds of encouragement before he relaxed and Jon felt arms wrap around his waist, pulling him in.

_Oh, thank fucking God._

He nudged Richie back until his hips were pressed against the bathroom sink.

"We'll work it out," he promised between nibbles. "But right now, I want you. OK?"

"Definitely," Richie sighed, before slipping his hand to the back of Jon's head and kissing him hard on the mouth.

A heat spread through Jon's belly as Richie probed his mouth roughly with his tongue. He moaned into the kiss -- probably louder than he'd normally allow. If questioned, he'd blame the bathroom acoustics.

Richie didn't comment, though. He simply nipped Jon's bottom lip before pulling back to look him in the eyes.

"I'm wearing a towel."

Jon grinned and ran his palms along Richie's arms. "Yes, I know."

"But you're wearing clothes. Doesn't seem right."

"True," Jon agreed, stepping back a bit. "It's bad manners."

He pulled his t-shirt off and tossed it to the floor. "Happy?" he said, spreading his arms wide.

Richie looked him up and down, with a little gleam in his eyes that made Jon shiver.

"Getting there," he said lowly.

Jon furrowed his brow, trying to feign skepticism. "Hmm. Let's see."

He reached out to yank the towel off, but the slippery bastard dodged him and began to back into the room.

"Why don't you come lie down, Jonny?" he suggested sweetly -- but with such a goddamn dirty smile that Jon was frozen on the spot for a moment.

When he did find the power to move his legs, he stepped into the room to find Richie sitting on the edge of his bed, casually leaning back on his forearms.

Without meaning to, Jon licked his lips, which earned him an amused smile.

"What's taking you so long?" Richie asked, tilting his head toward the vacant spot next to him.

Jon honestly wasn't sure. Maybe it was the late hour, but he felt like he was in a daze. Like his logical mind wasn't calling the shots -- but neither were his base instincts, as they would with the random girls. This was … different.

Richie cleared his throat, looking at him pointedly, and Jon decided to contemplate his state of mind later.

He crawled into bed and almost as soon as he stretched out, Richie straddled his thighs and smiled down at him.

This time, though, the smile was genuine. So open and honest, in fact, that Jon had to look away. He suddenly felt very exposed, and the warmth he'd sensed below was now blossoming across his chest -- in a way that was not entirely comfortable, but not bad, either. Just new.

When Richie finally leaned in, the kiss was surprisingly tender. His hair spilled down in wet ringlets, dampening Jon's cheeks, but he didn't mind so much. Especially when those soft lips moved to suck on that spot behind his ear -- the one Richie had already memorized, apparently. Jon turned his head and arched into the touch, inhaling sharply when he felt fingernails graze one of his nipples.

He nearly whined when Richie pulled away. But then he felt that warm breath over his ear. "Tell me what you want."

"Nngh," Jon said stupidly. "I dunno. You."

Richie exhaled a little laugh that sent tingles down the side of his neck. "OK."

Their lips met again, and Jon slowly slid his hands down the planes of Richie's back, digging his nails into the skin every couple inches. He wasn't trying to mark him or anything. But if he were honest, he didn't mind the idea. And judging by the needy little sounds Richie was making, he didn't mind, either.

Jon reached down to tug at the increasingly offensive towel, only to have Richie shoo his hands away. "Patience," he chastised.

Jon sighed in frustration, but it quickly morphed into a moan as Richie dipped down to circle his tongue around the nipple his fingers had been toying with. He kept at it, alternating tongue with teeth, until Jon was almost wheezing.

"Rich," he rasped, tangling his fingers in the wet hair. "I …"

Richie didn't say anything, but started to kiss a path down to his navel, pausing to push the waistband of his sweats down. Jon lifted his hips, just to be helpful, and sighed at the feeling of cool air hitting his hard, overheated flesh.

Richie's mouth was on him again, laying soft kisses along his inner thighs. Jon parted his legs, panting in anticipation of that deft hand taking hold of him.

It had been _days,_ for Christ's sake.

So by the time Richie's hand wrapped firmly around the base of his cock, he had to wonder how long he could last.

That's when he felt the warm, broad tongue slowly dragging a line along his length, and his head automatically snapped up.

"Fuck," he choked out, pressing onto his forearms.

Was Richie really…? He didn't _need_ visual confirmation, of course. But he was so taken off guard, he had to see it with his eyes. That mop of dark hair bent over him, that tongue circling around his tip, the full lips closing around him as he was enveloped in wet heat.

And holy fucking shit, he hadn't been expecting this at all, and breathing was suddenly, alarmingly difficult.

He let his head drop back so his throat and lungs could have more room, as he instinctively spread his legs wider. Richie grunted in response, sending a ripple through Jon that made him thrust his hips up involuntarily.

Richie started choking and pulled off abruptly.

"S-sorry," Jon managed. "You don't --"

But Richie was already diving back in, like the blessed little go-getter he was. Jon heard him exhaling heavily through his nose as he tried to take his cock in deeper, jaw working, tongue executing some sort of obscene choreography.

"Oh, God," he groaned, reaching down, scrabbling at Richie's ears -- fairly certain he was leaving scratch marks.

If he was, Richie didn't seem to notice. He just redoubled his efforts, pressing his fingers into Jon's thighs to hold him open and humming around his shaft. The vibration pulled a moan from some deep place within him.

"Fuck, Rich," he almost sobbed, digging his heels into the mattress.

He swore he felt Richie smile around him. A moment later, though, the sensation was gone, replaced by a strong hand. Jon tried to summon the energy to protest, but his breath caught in his chest when Richie began to gently suck one of his balls.

He heard himself murmuring a string of curses as that mouth moved over him with a perfect pressure that no girl had ever been able to find -- or had ever tried to find.

And by the time he felt a scorching tongue slide behind his balls, he was moaning without shame.

At some point, he became aware of Richie's own sounds, and Jon was struck by how they joined: They could even harmonize their moans, he realized. He would've laughed if he weren't convinced he was going into cardiac arrest.

"Rich," he gasped. "Please. I need …"

Without a word, Richie shifted to take him in again, and Jon shut his eyes tightly -- trying to block out the light and just feel every sensation on his too-hot skin. He knew he was almost done.

"Rich," he groaned again, in a shaky warning.

But Richie just kept working, like he was trying to draw everything inside of Jon to the surface. And when he came, Richie accepted it all -- a gesture Jon couldn't quite fathom, even now.

For a while they both lay still, Richie's head resting on his hip. He could barely breathe, let alone form words, so he simply reached down to thread his fingers into the still-damp hair.

Gradually, Richie inched his way up and laid his head on Jon's chest. When Jon was finally able to speak, he uttered the first thing that occurred to him.

"How?"

He felt Richie smile into his skin, just above his heart.

"I've always been good with my mouth."

Jon chuckled. "Uh, yeah." He rubbed the back of Richie's head. "C'mere."

Richie scooted up and nestled into the curve of Jon's neck with a sigh.

"Don't fall asleep," Jon murmured, swatting his butt lightly. "And take this fucking towel off already."

Richie's laugh tickled the sensitive skin around his ear. He mumbled something -- Jon thought he heard "bossy" -- before lifting his hips and shedding the towel.

"Much better," Jon approved, running both palms over the curve of newly exposed skin. He brought his lips close to Richie's ear. "I, uh, don't think I can beat that performance."

He hoped Richie understood what he meant. He was too embarrassed to admit he was afraid. It wasn't that he didn't want to -- he just didn't want to disappoint.

Richie turned his head a bit, so their lips were almost touching. "S'okay. You don't have to."

Jon felt a little ache in his chest at those words. He knew he didn't _have_ to.

He nudged Richie to get him to roll onto his back, then straddled his hips and rested his forearms on either side of his head. He wasn't really sure what compelled him, but he found himself landing gentle kisses on Richie's forehead, his eyes, cheeks, neck.

As he made more and more contact, the little ache kept spreading, but he noticed it didn't actually feel bad. He moved to nibble on an earlobe before whispering, "Just gonna grab my bag."

Richie put a hand on his arm. "Nightstand."

Jon eyed him and got a dopey grin in return. "I'm an optimist," Richie explained.

Jon ducked his head to disguise a smile, then reached to fish the trusty tube from the drawer. He felt eyes on him as he rubbed the liquid between his palms, but couldn't return the look for some reason. Instead, he focused on that attention-starved cock.

"You've been a very patient boy," he said as he took Richie in hand.

He conveyed it with an edge of sarcasm, but it was an honest acknowledgment. And he trusted it would be heard that way.

His first stroke drew a long groan of relief, but as Jon picked up the pace it wasn't long before Richie started to come undone. Choked moans, desperate little grunts, helpless whimpers as he slid his thumbs over the tip again and again. Being the one to pull those sounds free made Jon feel … He wasn't even sure how to describe it.

"Does it feel good?" he breathed. Of course, he knew the answer, but for some reason he suddenly needed to hear the words.

Richie turned his head to the side, bit his lip and nodded.

"Say it," Jon whispered, reaching one hand down to fondle the sac.

Richie bit his lip so hard Jon was worried he'd draw blood. "Yeah," he panted. "It's good."

Jon trailed his fingertips behind Richie's balls and pressed up, drawing a gasp. And the sounds were definitely nice, but Jon wanted to hear the words again.

"Tell me."

Richie tossed his head to the other side, as he pushed his hips into Jon's touch. "Um. That -- do that."

Jon smiled. "That?" he said, massaging the exquisitely sensitive place, as he began to stroke harder with his other hand.

"Yeah," Richie choked out. "God, Jonny."

Jon felt all of his initial insecurities about technical prowess falling away. In the end, he supposed, this is what mattered. Actually giving a shit about the person you're with, and connecting.

"Jonny," Richie moaned, arching his chest up.

"C'mon, baby," Jon murmured without thinking.

A moment later, Richie's whole body seemed to shudder as he came.

*****

Jon peered at the clock. Almost 6 a.m. and they were still coming down. Or at least he was. Richie's breath had evened out, so it was possible he'd drifted off.

He turned onto his side and tossed his arm across Richie's belly. "I was thinking."

Richie made a sleepy noise.

"You wanna hear what I'm thinking?"

"Hmm."

"I wanna learn your oral techniques."

Richie opened his eyes and Jon smirked. "I wanna learn your oral techniques and perfect them," he went on. "I wanna be better at them than you are."

Richie glanced at him. "Um. I seriously doubt that'll happen. But I applaud your goals."

"Naw, I can do it," Jon insisted. "I think if you practice enough on me, and I practice enough on you, I'll get it down pretty quickly."

He could see Richie was fighting a smile. "Sounds logical."

Jon studied his face for a moment. "I had another thought, too."

"I'll practice anything you wanna practice."

"No." Jon sat up a little. "I have an idea for a pact."

Richie side-eyed him.

"We can decide to just … take things day by day, y'know? Not worry so much about the future. And just let things be weird and awkward right now if they need to be."

Richie turned his head to look at him fully. "That's, like, the exact opposite of who you are."

"I know," Jon admitted. "But maybe for this one thing, I can be different."

Richie just stared at him in response, and Jon felt a heat rising in his cheeks. Maybe he was pushing this too far, he realized.

Then Richie smiled softly. "That episode of _Moonlighting_ really got to you, huh?"

Jon laughed, partly out of relief. "It was very moving, yes."

Richie kept smiling at him. "OK. Let's make a pact to be weird and awkward and not care."

Jon nodded. "I have faith in us."

"It's a deal then," Richie said quietly.

Jon realized his arm was still draped across Richie's body. But it didn't feel odd, and Richie wasn't fidgeting underneath him. So maybe they were already starting to get over the weird and awkward part.

"G'night," he said, settling back into the pillow.

He felt Richie's hand come to rest on his arm. "'Night, Jonny."

As he closed his eyes, Jon snuggled in a bit closer. It wasn't his usual style -- he normally liked more space. But maybe for this one thing, he was going to be a little different.


End file.
